


(dream smp) weighing silences

by gobbledego



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Before And After Jschlatt's Death, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Betrays GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream Needs Help, Clay | Dream is Not Okay, Dream Team Breakup, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Toby Smith | Tubbo, POV Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Three Lives AU, Toby smith | Tubbo exiles Tommyinnit, he needs help, like dream is seriously suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gobbledego/pseuds/gobbledego
Summary: dream learns that the best thing to do is let go
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 184
Collections: This collection includes works relating to Minecraft- Dream Smp.





	(dream smp) weighing silences

**Author's Note:**

> tw; smoking, weapons, blood, dying, minor gore
> 
> sum of this may not match up to what actually happened in the smp bc most of this is just me going off on my own  
> but ayo take a shot every time i mention eyes

"There is a traitor amongst your ranks," he said, and though his face was concealed one could tell just by his voice that a cocky smirk was plastered upon it. 

He was leaning on the hilt of his sword with both hands, tip of the blade pushed into stone as if it could make a dent, and was peering over his ledge at them. A laugh, low and demeaning. "A traitor much more surprising than Eret, someone none of you would ever expect."

The words struck something in them, he could tell, though they tried to let no emotion through the guards of stony expressions. He could see the flicker of uncertainty in Tubbo's eyes, the mild panic in Fundy's. A clench in Tommy's jaw. Wilbur's eyes didn't waver from the ledge.

Dream left moments after the silence had dropped and after the rapid-fire of questions had begun, the answers to which he'd hid beneath an ambiguous laugh. They were so unsure, weak spots so easy to foresee. He didn't have to wonder as he scaled the cave walls to his exit, if their frantic arguing was anything to go by, his target had been hit, just as per usual. 

His sword returned to its scabbath and frosted grass crunching underfoot, he began to make his way through the forest and towards l'Manburg in the distance, humming a song under his breath to make up for the utter silence so far away from the city. He hated the silence, hated how it got inside his head and awoke thoughts he preferred to leave unthought, concerns he'd rather not go into detail with just yet.

Concerns Dream hid far too deeply within himself to ever let out. 

The silence always somehow managed to bring them to light, bring alive the doubts nestled in the corners of his brain, wriggling around dangerous ideals and strangling the blinded passion he ruled himself with. He hardly heard when his compass fell to the ground with a clatter because his hands were clutching his head and were shaking it with an animal-like type of despair, as if he could somehow shake out every last, torturous thought. 

God, how he longed for emptiness. For space in which the silence would do nothing but be silent. That's how silence was supposed to be, wasn't it? Silence wasn't supposed to be this loud.

Moments later Dream was walking, compass hanging at his side, hands tucked nonchalantly into the pockets of his hoodie. Familiar crunching underfoot, whistling of wind through the leaves above. The silence didn't have to be so complete, did it?

The sound wasn't quite as fulfilling as he'd hoped when he finally reached the city. He supposed, deep inside, he knew it wouldn't have been, but he tried to push these thoughts aside as through dust he strode. These memories of long-ago cities, of ringing melodies in orange sunsets and fortuitous visitors who were thought of as nothing more than tinted impressions. Memories he pushed to the back of his head, ready to ignore as he did most everything that hurt. He would refuse to admit it hurt. 

The man was slouched lazily on a rickety wooden chair when Dream entered, a cigarette puffing mere wisps of smoke from between his teeth as he stared off vacantly. Dream watched him from the doorway for a moment, unsure as to whether he'd been noticed, before walking inside and standing in front of the chair. 

"Schlatt." 

A few blinks to life, then a slow, gap-toothed smile. Schlatt plucked the cigarette out from between his lips and let it fall to the floor, spark of the smallest flame on its tip continuing to burn until it was extinguished by the leather toe of Dream's boot. Schlatt eyed him in amusement for this and leaned forward slightly, chin resting on intertwined fingers and elbows creasing the fabric of his dress trousers. 

"Dream," he responded, almost mockingly.

In an instant, a sword was at his throat and Dream's breath was heavy with anger. Up close, Schlatt smelled like alcohol and sweat. The glittering blade twisted against his Adam's apple.

Schlatt chuckled, brown eyes glinting with a sickening delight as they stared into the holes which made up Dream's. When he spoke, his breath was bitter with cigarette smoke. 

"Bit feisty today, are we?"

"Remember who has the power here, Schlatt," Dream growled lowly, pushing the blade ever closer until it was almost piercing the other man's skin. Brown eyes never wavered. "You may be the President, but just remember who got you this far." 

"Bullshit," Schlatt whispered with a slow grin. He looked like he wasn't even processing the weapon desperate to draw blood. "I've got what you care about. I know you, Dream, despite not knowing who the fuck you were 'til a couple months ago. I know what makes you tick, I'm good with that," his grin was nearing mania now, and brown eyes were on Dream unblinkingly, "No need to act all cocky and shit, I know you need me. You won't kill me. Not yet."

"You don't know anything about me," Dream muttered, but he was the first to draw away, tucking his sword into its scabbath and letting his eyes fall to the floor. Anger simmered true in his blood, a stewing pit which was bound to boil over. He watched as Schlatt lit another cigarette. 

"They'll be safe," Schlatt said suddenly, concealed from Dream's view behind a curtain of black smoke. He could barely make out Schlatt's eyes, brown but void of anything besides the dull shine of nicotine. "I keep my promises, even to motherfuckers like you."

Dream exhaled slowly.

"They do say keep your enemies closer. Not like I have a choice."

Schlatt's eyes were closed now and as he said these words his head tilted backwards towards the ceiling. Puffs of smoke rose above the two of them, little clouds which tickled the back of Dream's throat before they escaped out the open window. It was like this they sat for hours, in a silence far too impenetrable to be companionable, but too understanding to be something dangerous, and Dream watched Schlatt light another cigarette, and Schlatt counted the days. It wasn't much, but when you had nothing to begin with, it was something.

But God, how Dream hated the silence. 

He could almost see Schlatt in those eyes, if he really looked. Same shades of brown, the distant curl of smoke brought on by Dream's imagination but which seemed to choke in the same way it would have if it was real. These eyes were younger though, a sparkle of familiar naivety sitting in their iris, but also of wisdom, of an odd sort of wisdom that maybe eyes this young shouldn't have.

Then again, Tubbo was leading quite a different life. 

Dream was leaning against the half-built obsidian walls when they approached. Tubbo was at the front, a steely look constricting his expression, and Fundy, Quackity and Tommy followed close behind. Dream watched as they got closer, watched, the tiniest of smiles pulling at the corner of his lip, as Tubbo began to speak. 

Of course he ended up doing it. In the end, Dream supposed, it was himself who ruled in this country. They could have their presidents, their revolutionaries, their madnesses or their anarchists, but there was only one way things would really get done.

He'd told Schlatt who truly had the power around here, and even through all Schlatt's little mind games and mockeries, when the bombs began to fall who was the one who ended up convulsing on the floor of a caravan?

Dream hated the silence.

He hated the understanding. 

"What do you care about, Dream?" 

Eyes, not brown anymore but a dull blue, the edge of a blade glinting within. Tommy held his sword to George's throat, and Dream could feel two pairs of blue eyes watching him far too closely. His breath growing a little sharper.

"I don't care about anything," is what he mumbled, and he didn't manage to draw his eyes away in time to miss the slowest tear running down George's cheek, but just in time to miss the cause for the awful scream which rang through the air seconds later. Dream didn't look back.

When George's body fell limp to the ground and Tommy's sword was wiped clean of the blood, Dream hadn't flinched. When he began to walk away, it was the brown eyes which flashed through his mind which almost made him shudder, familiar words roughened by steady puffs of a cigar.

"I've got what you care about. I know you, Dream, despi-"

Caring was what brought Dream to his knees. Caring dug a knife deeper and deeper into his chest with George's blood spilled on dying autumn grass. Caring strangled his resolve every time he tried to get what he wanted. So Dream refused to care, even as George flickered back to life on the ground beside him. Dream hurried away before his eyes could open. 

If he cared about nothing, no one could hurt him anymore. 

Brown eyes lay glassy now at the bottom of a tomb. They didn't see as much as they used to, but no one was around to close them, so they simply watched as cobwebs veiled the corners of a crudely made coffin. 

Brown eyes held no power anymore. They barely got to watch the world go by.

Two pairs of blue eyes were reflected in lapping water. One watched the sea, curled up on an empty beach with hands clutching the sand, wondering questions of why. The other watched gold-scaled fishes run upstream and ran his fingers through dying blades of grass, a dull pain in his throat and a throbbing pain in his chest.

Blue eyes were weighed down by hopelessness that had never seemed this heavy before. The world was falling through their fingers like the sand, and they had never been so helpless to stop it.

Dream didn't know what colour his eyes were anymore. They had blended in with a mix of details about himself which swirled around his head too quickly to recall, but such details were useless to him anyway, weren't they? He couldn't quite remember what he looked like anymore. But who cared? In the end, who really cared?

In the silence, the ghosts would wonder. But he could avoid the silence a while longer.


End file.
